


Undisclosed

by creamycat (0shadow_panther0)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Begging, Biting, Chair Sex, Character Spoilers, F/M, Gentle femdom, Light Dom/sub, Support Spoilers, Teasing, Verbal Bondage, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/creamycat
Summary: “I overheard Flayn commenting on my affections for you earlier,” he continues. “To Manuela, of all people. To think that—well. She spoke more bluntly than I expected.”A tiny puff of laughter escapes her, and he scowls.“This is a serious matter,” he says, mustering the last dregs of his dignity.She hums. “It is,” she agrees mildly. Their faces are very, very close.Seteth and Byleth spend an evening together in his office. Unfortunately, his office lacks a bed. Fortunately, the chair, while cramped, fits two.





	Undisclosed

“Are you free this evening?”

Seteth pauses, turning his gaze to Byleth. He looks a little tired, but otherwise healthy, with color in his cheeks and a sheen to his hair.

“Free?” he echoes.

She meets his eyes evenly, head cocking. He fidgets, cheeks darkening.

“I—yes, I am. Tonight, after dinner.”

“I see. Your office, then?”

He averts his eyes to nod, glancing up at the freshly reconstructed stained glass of the cathedral, as if a dragon might burst from the window for the blasphemy of their implications.

She allows the faintest trace of a smile as she leaves, the image of Seteth’s flustered blush firmly imprinted on her mind.

—

The sky is almost dark by the time she starts to make her way through the monastery, the air cool and brisk against her bare arms.

She’s dressed down—it’s after-hours, and the visit she’s making is hardly formal. Her armor and cloak are tossed somewhere in her room, her medallion on her desk. Her high-collared, short sleeved shirt seems oddly plain without its usual adornments.

She knocks on the door to Seteth’s office, mildly surprised when he opens the door barely a moment after her knuckles leaves the wood.

He shepherds her in with the briefest incline of his head as his only acknowledgment, steadfastly avoiding her gaze.

She’s barely taken a step into the room when he swings the door shut again, the lock clicking with finality. Even as close as he is, he still won’t meet her eyes.

“Seteth?” she prompts carefully, like picking her way towards a timid fawn.

He jolts like she’s surprised him, mouth setting into a thin line. “Yes?”

She blinks. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to—”

“No!” he blurts, apparently startling himself with his own outburst. He flushes, then takes a moment to compose himself. “No,” he says again, “I want this. I am simply…nervous, perhaps.”

Byleth cocks her head. This is hardly the first time they’ve done something like this—

“I overheard Flayn commenting on my affections for you earlier,” he continues. “To Manuela, of all people. To think that—well. She spoke more bluntly than I expected.”

Ah. That would explain it. Seteth has always valued the discretion of their relationship. The idea of others gossiping about them—much less his own daughter—would undoubtedly unsettle him.

A tiny puff of laughter escapes her, and he scowls.

“This is a serious matter,” he says, mustering the last dregs of his dignity.

She hums. “It is,” she agrees mildly. Their faces are very, very close, and she cups his cheek with a cool hand.

He visibly deflates as soon as she touches him, leaning into her palm like a cat. She tilts him so he’s facing her properly, meeting his gaze evenly. “It will be fine,” she says firmly, like she’s consoling one of her students, and Seteth huffs.

She goes on her tiptoes to kiss him, hands ghosting along his sides before drifting back up to settle on his shoulders. His own hands slide over her waist, down to her hips, flexing against her as she nips at his bottom lip.

She guides him back to his chair with a gentle but insistent palm on his chest, and he sits obligingly, eyes dark. Byleth smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Seteth tilts his head to catch it fully, wordlessly begging for more.

She sighs against his skin, carefully straddling his lap. It’s a little uncomfortable with the chair’s size, the edges of the armrest digging into her legs, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes flutter shut as she deepens the kiss.

When they finally pull away for a breath, Seteth’s eyes are dark and hazy, face flushed.

Byleth blinks. His hair, normally meticulously styled, is in disarray, and the tips of his pointed ears are just visible through the mussed strands.

A flash of mischief across her face is the only warning Seteth gets before she ducks down, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. He makes a strangled noise that’s only barely not a yelp, and as pressed up as she is against him, she can feel the breath catching in his chest.

“B-Byleth—” he rasps, only to cover his mouth to smother a moan as she traces her tongue across the ridge of his ear.

She hums lowly, her breath ghosting over the dampened skin, and Seteth’s voice hitches again.

“I’m—it’s sensitive there,” he finally manages.

“Good,” she murmurs, then catches the lobe of his ear in her teeth and _bites_.

Seteth buries his face in the crook of her neck, muffling what could have been a shout, fingers digging into her hips.

She laps at the reddened skin, half-apologetically, half for the gasp he presses into her shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” she observes, smoothing an errant lock of forest green hair back into place.

He takes a few shaky breaths, heat blooming from his lips where they brush against her shoulder. “And you’re enjoying this,” he ripostes.

She hums, then rocks forward, hips pressing down on his. Seteth makes a low, strangled noise.

“I’d argue that you’re enjoying this far more than I am.”

He whimpers, voice rising as she palms the hot bulge beneath his robes.

She laps at the sliver of skin above his high collar, fingers slipping the line of buttons open. She takes her time, kissing and marking every inch of newly-exposed skin, from the hollow of his throat down his sternum.

He’s muffling his gasps and moans behind his hand, which she dislikes, but she allows him his muteness in favor of shifting away to unbuckle his belt and finish unbuttoning his robes.

She runs her hands over his chest, firm and warm, then dips her head down to graze his nipple with her teeth. He jolts beneath her, tensing like a bow being pulled taut.

She hums against his skin, tugging his robes apart. Seteth is surprisingly bulky beneath the soft fabric of his uniform, the loose sleeves underplaying the broadness of his shoulders. The first time he had undressed for her, she had been pleasantly surprised.

Flushed and askew, his robes open and his trousers doing little to hide his erection, Seteth is an immensely pretty picture that she’ll take her time devouring.

She slides off his lap, and his hand extends for just a moment, as if trying to reach for her, before he catches himself and grabs the armrest of his chair in a white-knuckled grip instead.

She drops to her knees in front of him, and Seteth stares at her, wide-eyed and flushed. She unbuttons his trousers, and he startles before he obliging lifts his hips she can pull them—and his smallclothes—down his thighs.

He reddens even more, if possible, swallowing thickly.

Byleth cocks her head thoughtfully for a moment, the reaches to tug his other hand down to the armrest to mirror its fellow. “Stay,” she murmurs, voice no less commanding for its low volume, and Seteth barely manages a nod.

His erection is even more flushed than his face, and she drags her finger from base to tip before grasping it fully. It’s hot in her palm, but what really catches her attention is Seteth’s sharp inhale through his teeth, and the way his hands flex against the wooden armrests.

She hums, then leans forward. Her hair brushes his thighs as she takes the head of his cock in her mouth, running her tongue along the ridge of the crown. Her hand pumps slow and languid down his shaft, the other lightly scraping down his hip with blunt nails.

She feels his muscles grow tense, then forcibly relax, then tense again as she starts to take him deeper in her mouth. He’s making soft, restrained noises, little half-muffled pants and gasping moans that only tempt her to extract more sounds from him.

She digs her nails into the tender skin where the inside of his thigh meets his pelvis at the same time she swallows him to the root, and Seteth very nearly whimpers, head thrown back and spine arching. One of his hands tries to find purchase in her hair, but she slips off of him before he gets a grip, then pins his wrist back onto the armrest.

“Stay,” she orders again. She edges her voice with a chill, keen on the way his lips part and his pupils blow wide with the command.

“My apologies,” he rasps.

She hums, ducking back down but avoiding his erection in favor of dappling the insides of his thighs with reddened marks caused by teeth and tongue. She nips and sucks until the skin bruises under her mouth and Seteth is trembling, wood creaking under his hands.

He shivers as her hair brushes against his cock, then moans as she lifts her head to lap, slow and languid, at the base.

She stands, and Seteth well and truly whines at the loss of contact, but his hands remain obediently in place.

Byleth tugs off her shorts and tights and kicks them off to the side, immediately bringing her hand to her slick cunt and dipping two fingers in with a sigh. She scissors herself open, grinding the heel of her hand against her clit, and a broken noise forces its way past Seteth’s throat. She glances down at him with half-lidded eyes, slipping a third finger inside herself.

He makes a high, keening sound, one that seems like he hadn’t even meant to make. He’s staring at her so intensely like he’d rather die than miss a second of her.

Byleth allows a tiny smile, climbing into his lap again and dragging her slick against the head of his cock. “Will you behave?” she asks, voice husky.

He manages a short, jerky nod.

She presses a kiss to his forehead, painfully gentle. “Good boy.”

She finally takes him in his entirety, hips flush with his own, and the tiniest, softest moan escapes her with the fullness of it. “Cichol,” she purrs, and she hears a harsh intake of breath—

There’s a sharp _crack_ and Byleth jolts, reeling back. Seteth is panting, the armrests a splintered mess under his hands.

She raises her brows.

“I’m—it’s fine,” he manages. “Please don’t—” He inhales shakily. “Please don’t stop.”

When he begs so nicely, he’s impossible to deny.

She rolls her hips against him and he shudders, pressing his lips against her collarbone, mouthing what might be a prayer against her skin. He’s gripping the remains of the chair hard enough that the wood is splintering further, shards clattering to the floor.

There’s a flicker of sympathy, and she cards her fingers through his hair, pulling gently to tilt his head up. His breath rushes through his teeth as her nails scrape against his scalp, and then stutters when she kisses him. He drinks her in, mouth pliant as she traces her tongue along his.

He’s tense, every muscle pulled taut like a bow drawn to its breaking point, whispering almost soundlessly into the kiss—

Belatedly, she notices that he’s not breathing prayers, although he might as well be, with how desperate and worshipful he is. No, he’s mouthing her name, over and over, fervently reverent even as blood seeps through his fingers from the splintered wood.

Distantly, through the blooming pleasure in her belly and the distraction from the heat of his breath, she wonders if that would be some kind of blasphemy.

He pulls away first, to her surprise, only to gasp out a _please, please_—

He’s barely grasping at the last strands of his self-control, it seems, bucking into her in jerky, aborted thrusts and _whimpering_. The sound of his voice, normally so smooth and composed, cracking with need is more potent than any aphrodisiac.

She increases the tempo, the ruined chair creaking under their weight. The small room fills with his gasping, punched-out moans and the slick, wet sounds of their lovemaking until she’s dizzy with it.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmurs, thick and rough. “Seteth—_Cichol_.”

He gives a choked-off, jagged cry, hips stuttering for a moment before snapping up to meet hers. She gasps at the feeling and brings a hand down to finger her clit. Heat pools in her belly, arcing up her spine like like live flames.

Seteth’s lip is bitten bloody—trying to restrain his noises or staving off his orgasm. Both, perhaps. He thrusts up into her again, burying himself to the hilt, and the sensation is enough to tip her over the edge.

She moans, long and low, and her breathing goes rough and she finds the shell of his ear with her teeth and _bites_.

Seteth cums with a ragged cry, startlingly loud after so much time smothering himself. She maintains her pace, rolling her hips and scraping her teeth along his ear until he’s twitching and nearly incoherent, her name a jumbled mess in his mouth but still not telling her to stop.

It’s only when he chokes out, “I _can’t—hah—please,”_ in that frail, wrecked way that she finally slows. His cock slips out of her with an overstimulated whimper, and his arms go limp at his sides.

Her thighs are aching with the strain, and she shifts to stretch them, unfolding her legs though the gap between the shattered armrests and the seat.

She rests her chin on his shoulder, cheek-to-cheek with him, and sighs contentedly as he wraps his arms around her. He still sounds out of breath, chest heaving beneath her.

“How are your hands?” she asks. She feels his arms shift, and she twists to peek behind her.

“Fine,” he says, hoarse and raspy. He flexes his hands—his palms are scraped bloody, but the injuries look shallow.

Byleth makes a sympathetic noise, reaching for his wrist. She brings his hand to her lips and laps at the wounds, drawing a hiss from him. The hiss melts into a low groan as she drags her tongue over his fingers, then slips two into her mouth, down to the knuckle, and sucks lightly.

His pupils are blown wide, breath stuttering. His hair is even more disheveled now, the reddened tips of his ears in full display.

She pulls off his fingers with a wet sound and licks the coppery taste from her lips.

He’s growing hard again, she notes idly, reaching for his other hand.

The night is young, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is my protest against dom/top!seteth. i WILL write a pegging fic later and cannot be stopped


End file.
